


Bonds of Affection

by waltwhitmans



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M, happy birthday Pete, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans
Summary: "You've been talking about this for almost two years," he said. "The sun coming up over a nation more divided than ever. The day when Trump isn't president anymore. That day is tomorrow. You've been ready since long before now."A conversation, the night before the inauguration.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Bonds of Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a deleted scene from "Period of Adjustment." There aren't many publicly available pictures of the interior of Blair House so I made it up, but you can see the Lincoln Room [here](http://www.blairhouse.org/about/inside-the-home/lincoln-room).

The little staircase Chasten's father made for Buddy had been packed away for the move, and was probably in one of the giant World Van Lines trucks that moment, waiting to be transported to the White House. For the few weeks they were living at Blair House, Buddy had to be picked up and placed in the bed. Truman was still agile enough to get up by himself. Both dogs were already in bed, waiting for their people to join them. Chasten thought that he and Pete were going straight to bed; it was after ten and the next day would be the most important of their lives. But Pete had wandered away from the small clutch of rooms they had been living in, while Chasten was getting the dogs settled and informing the agents on duty that they were going to bed. Chasten wasn't too surprised; Pete had seemed a little quiet towards the end of the party at Transition. He turned off the light in the bedroom and started looking. The eat-in kitchen, the living room, and the small study Pete was using during the transition were all empty. Strange. Chasten knew Pete hadn't been exploring the rest of the enormous townhouse. He must have found somewhere new to collect his thoughts.

Chasten found Pete in the Lincoln Room, surrounded by priceless historical knick-knacks, sitting on the lime green sofa, staring into the middle distance, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. Above the mantle, President Lincoln looked down at him. "Penny for your thoughts," Chasten said, sitting gingerly next to Pete on the two hundred year old sofa. You couldn't just throw yourself onto this furniture. There was a historical society dedicated to its upkeep. "Two cents, if it's a lot."

"I was just thinking about tomorrow's itinerary," Pete said. "Wake up at seven. Church at nine. Coffee and small talk with the Pences at ten-fifteen - that's going to be an experience. We head to the Capitol at eleven. At exactly noon I become president, whether or not I've taken the oath by then."

"Yes, I know. I'll be holding Kennedy's Bible for you." 

"Then there's the luncheon, reviewing the troops, the parade, and the Inaugural Balls. How many are we going to?"

"Ten. The Neighborhood Inaugural is where we have our dance. Then there's the military ball, the ones for each part of the country, the Indiana ball, the Georgia ball, the young voters ball, and the one for staff and volunteers." 

Pete let his head drop to rest on the back of the couch. "I'm already tired." 

"And we're hosting an after-hours cocktail party for our close friends and family at the White House."

"Oh, God."

"But," Chasten said, patting Pete's knee, "then we go to bed. And we wake up in the morning as President and First Gentleman. Which you were born for and which I am rapidly adjusting to." 

"I was wondering how he did it." Pete sat up and nodded toward the portrait of Lincoln. "The country was divided. Democrats and secessionists loathed him. He had to preserve the union and live through his son's death and his wife's illnesses. But he did it. Freed the slaves and won the war. And he didn't even live to see it."

"I'm emotionally stable and our children won't be at risk of dying from typhoid fever," Chasten said. "I can't help you with the rest."

Pete stood up, put both hands on the small of his back, stretched. He studied Lincoln's face, almost scrutinized him for an answer. Chasten noticed, for the first time, the portrait of Robert E. Lee in the corner, facing the fireplace wall. "I asked for this, and I earned it," Pete said. "I know that. I'm ready to lead a divided nation. We're not in a civil war. But I'm in for the struggle of my life."

Chasten looked at the artwork on the wall behind him. Above his head was the famous engraving on Lincoln with his cabinet, the team of rivals. "You've been talking about this for almost two years," he said. "The sun coming up over a nation more divided than ever. The day when Trump isn't president anymore. That day is tomorrow. You've been ready since long before now." 

"_Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection,_" Pete said. "The first Inaugural Address."

"And you'll get everyone back in touch with the better angels of their nature," Chasten said. "Peter, sit down."

Pete sat down. "You haven't been around enough to enjoy the amenities," Chasten said, lifting his arm and resting it over Pete's shoulders. Pete leaned into him. "There's the on-site florist. The barber shop. The gym."

"I've been to the gym. It's nice."

"And you haven't explored any of it. This is a beautiful house. Four houses, actually. Old and grandiose and fascinating. I had a meeting with my staff the other day in the Treaty Room and nobody could get over how beautiful it is. You know what they call the house on the other end of Jackson Place?"

"What do they call it?"

"Peter Parker House." 

"No." Pete smiled. "You're kidding."

"Scout's honor. Named after its first owner. He was a doctor." 

"And the friendly neighborhood Spiderman." 

They both laughed; not because it was funny but because they were both so tired, and stressed, and time alone had been at a premium lately. Pete slouched down to rest his head on Chasten's shoulder. "I saw something interesting the other day," Pete said. "I was walking back to our bedroom from the gym and I started poking around. They call this place the President's Guest House, I figure I'm allowed. I went into one of the private studies and someone put a painting of the Sacred Band of Thebes over the fireplace." 

"I don't follow." 

"The Sacred Band was made of a hundred and fifty gay couples. They were the elite force of the Theban army. Plato said the idea was that a soldier would fight harder and be more willing to die if he was protecting his lover." 

"Who on earth would put something like that here?"

"Buchanan, probably," Pete said, and that set them off again. 

Chasten lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes, took a deep breath to compose himself. "I already know what my favorite part of tomorrow will be," he said.

"Do you?"

"I let myself imagine it after you won." Chasten replaced his glasses, let his cheek rest on the top of Pete's head, close enough to smell his shampoo and body wash. "Tomorrow, we'll wake up, get ready. Breakfast will be delivered and I'm going to insist that we have it alone, just you and me, because it'll be the only chance we get all day. We'll go to church. We'll endure coffee and incredibly polite conversation with two people who think our marriage is an affront to God and I won't ask Karen why she spends so much time with Focus on the Family, or mention Marlon Bundo."

"Thank you." 

"We're giving the Pences a photo album, by the way, as the traditional present. I had my staff fill it with pictures of their time as VP and Second Lady. I think it's a nice parting gift."

"Oh, you're _brutal_." 

"I try." The clock on the side table chimed the half-hour. "From there we go to the Capitol. I walk out after Karen and get more applause. You walk out and people lose their minds. The invocation, Shea Diamond sings, Stacey is sworn in, Joshua Bell and Yo-Yo Ma duet, you're sworn in."

"Uh-huh." 

"You give your monumental Inaugural Address. Then the blessing, and then it's over. The luncheon, the troops the parade, and after all that pomp and circumstance, and standing on ceremony, we change into our tuxedos - which you will look devastatingly handsome in, by the way - and go to the first of the ten balls of the night. Where, in front of God and all the major news networks and a thousand guests, we'll have our first dance."

"It's not 'Countdown,' right?"

"No. I keep telling you that was a joke. It's our wedding song, to be sung by Brandi Carlile."

"I thought you said we got Dolly Parton."

"That was also a joke. Stand up." 

They stood facing each other in front of the fireplace. Chasten put one hand on Pete's waist, held his left hand, felt the ring he'd slid on himself. "Just like at the wedding," he said. "You remember."

"Of course." Pete leaned in to rest his forehead on Chasten's. They both closed their eyes, began to gently sway back and forth. "All I could think was how lucky I was."

"Don't think about the cameras. Don't look at the crowd. Just listen to the song."

"All the times on the trail, when I looked over and saw you, I never forgot that feeling." 

"There are going to be think pieces and op-eds and tweets about it but they don't matter. Just think about the kids who aren't safe to come out, watching us, knowing that they can have everything they want." 

They were quiet for a moment, dancing exactly like they'd done two and a half years earlier. Throughout the building, across the street at the White House, a few blocks away at Transition, staffers were putting the finished touches on the speeches, finalizing every last detail, preparing for the next four years. It all seemed so far away. 

"What do you think he'd make of us?" Pete asked, turning to look back up at Lincoln. 

"Well, you know what they say about Lincoln, sharing beds with other men." 

"Chasten -"

"I'm just telling you what I heard." Chasten let go of Pete but didn't move away. "Are you ready for bed?" 

"I think so."

"Good. The dogs are waiting for us."

Neither said a word on the walk back to the bedroom. When Chasten turned the light on, Buddy lifted his head and started crying. Truman opened one eye, then closed it. "I know we're late," Chasten said, scratching Buddy's ear. "I had to have a little conversation with your father."

"Who's watching them tomorrow?"

"My director of social media. She won the rock-paper-scissors tournament." 

In bed, with the lights off, the dogs snoring, and the sounds of the city outside the window, Chasten thought about the thousands of people pouring into Washington from all over the country. He thought about the weight of John F. Kennedy's Bible in his hands. He thought that every First Lady that preceded him was as much of a mortal as the president they were married to. Pete sighed in his sleep. Chasten closed his eyes and thought about waking up the day after tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic I subjected myself to listen to "When You Say Nothing At All" multiple times and that song is four minutes of pure cheese. Thanks, guys.


End file.
